Quick Indian Cooking

We took our first well-deserved break this year. A road trip to a family wedding. Not far from Glasgow – the curry capital of Scotland.

Mini Basu was strapped squawking into the back of a Mercedes. I shoved the contents of our entire apartment into the rest of the car. Got some white Versace sunglasses and shiny wedge-heeled wellies on. And off we went.  Driving towards three days of fresh air.

It was going so well there. Until I asked an old friend, if the lady of a certain age accompanying him was his mother. No, he replied, she’s my girlfriend.

I am happy to report that Shimla is officially the most popular curry house and takeaway name in the small towns in Ayrshire. In fact, so popular is this stuff, that the chef’s Sunday night special at Irvine’s oldest pub (and nicest) was a Lamb Rogan Josh with Spiced Rice.

Made me crave the subtly-spiced Adraki Gosht, or gingered lamb, I’d once cooked for our financial adviser. I sang its praises before lunch until he declared he hates ginger. With Spring well in the air, and quality lamb about, I’ll happily eat this along with my words any day.
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Nothing like a last minute holiday. Mini Basu tucked into one arm, oversized summer tote draped on the other it was time to terrorise other passengers on a long haul Kolkata flight.

It was all going so well. Until we returned via Dubai. I arrived at the departure gate. Baby intact. Outfit in place. Handbag missing.

Disaster. All those valuables. That lucky lipgloss! The irreplaceable Chanel sunglasses! A brand new, albeit empty, Coccinelle wallet!

Luckily, the man had the passports and boarding cards. We jumped on the flight back to London. Mini Basu played merrily with the crew. While I mourned the loss of my precious belongings.

I wasted no time on my return. I ranted and raved at Dubai airport police. Someone stole my handbag. The sunglasses were like no other. The bag was almost new. And when I stopped for breath, they announced it had been found in the last coffee shop I had visited. All contents intact.

This called for celebration. I remembered seeing a decadent recipe for Nalli Gosht, or lamb shank curry, in an old copy of Indian GQ. Contributed by a hotel chef it had the prerequisite cream, butter et al. In my version, you can shove the whole lot into the oven and finish off the curry by running it through a sieve. I ditched the cream, but a small amount of butter really crowned this beauty.

At just over an hour, it’s on my uppermost limit of quick Indian cooking. But I defended my choice by having ample time to make Jeera Pulao, Kulfi and raita for my small dinner party while the lamb did its thing in the oven. You could, of course, cook this on the hob but the shanks will take at least an hour and a half to soften, while you turn them at regular intervals.
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This weekend I made a trip to the nearest ethnic supermarket. My dals were running out. Curry leaves depleting. And I needed quality lamb to warm my frozen Bengali veins.

The trip had been avoided for ages. Both my local supermarkets now sport “Asian” sections. The joy of being able to buy bags of green finger chillies with a case of French wine has been life changing. I save the special trip for when I really need to restock most of my supplies. Also buy meat on the bone for rich, flavoursome curries.

I jumped out of the car narrowly avoiding being run over. Mentally derided myself for wearing a floor length pure Angora coat to this monument to dust, exposed vegetables and spices. Apologised a thousand times for bumping into a hundred auntyjis.

And ended up buying overpriced “best quality” lamb. Thanks, I croaked, as I contemplated how best to transfer the meagre, meat-coated change from my £10 (for 1 kg) into my beautiful leather purse. While my man looked on in disgust.

This lamb needed a recipe worth the pain and the pleasure. I came across one while researching birthday cakes on a certified inspirational passionate baker. It’s Deeba’s Gosht Do Piaza, a North Indian lamb stew cooked with double onions. The sweetness of the onions and tomatoes was out of this world with the hearty meat and whole spices.

But never mind what I think. This is Deeba’s mom’s favourite recipe. Moms know best. My man summed it up eloquently with “this kicks arse”. He has also forgiven me for dragging him to the spice shop and offered to make it a weekly treat.

For this recipe, I might even agree.

PS= Deeba advocates the addition of green chillies, but her original recipe was spicy enough to clear our collective sinuses and heads. Proceed with caution

PPS = The garam masala powder was my addition to balance the flavours and can be omitted altogether
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Last week had several highlights.

I cleverly used the 15-minute relaxation session at yoga to have a power snooze. Then changed into a pale gold top and dashed to the first Christmas party of the season. Sailing proudly past the other 10 awestruck dumbfounded pregnant women.

Then came the office Christmas party. Where I tried to blend into a room full of gorgeous, small-waisted colleagues. Three layers of makeup and an off-the-shoulder maternity party frock later my boss declared I had “just” maintained the glamour stakes.

But the biggest highlight of it all was meeting at least four different couples who wanted to cook a curry at Christmas. Not in place of the big bronze bird with all the trimmings.  But for pre-and post-dinners with friends and family.

I could barely conceal my excitement as I tried to rack my brains for simple curry recipes that wouldn’t send them into a blind ingredient-sourcing panic in the run up to the big event. I needed a chicken, lamb and vegetarian option. Crowd pleasing, one-pot meals that can be cooked easily and in large quantities to feed hungry families.

My next few posts are dedicated to this theme. The first recipe is for Dal Gosht, spiced lamb cooked with lentils. An Indian Cassoulet of sorts. I last made this in a large stock pot, divided it in half and froze it. Later serving it to two small groups of dinner party guests.

Both were well impressed. It’s tasty without being mouth-numbingly hot and a real winter warmer. From one big bronze bird to another – this is my spice-filled contribution to your Christmas meal.
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